


Family Means

by difficultbluebird



Category: Assassin's Creed
Genre: F/M, Incest, Sibling Incest
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-11-22
Updated: 2015-12-07
Packaged: 2018-05-02 21:10:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,145
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5263742
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/difficultbluebird/pseuds/difficultbluebird
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Family means never having to say you’re sorry.</p><p>
No.</p>
<p>
Family means never saying sorry; even if you should, even if you want to, even if you need to.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Family means never having to say you’re sorry.

No.

Family means never saying sorry; even if you should, even if you want to, even if you need to. Being family means you sit there for long agonizing minutes with the words battering at your ribcage but never finding the courage to say them out loud. It means being too angry at them for words, and who cares if you’re also in the wrong because fuck saying sorry. If you’ve never apologized before, you don’t have anything ready when the moment comes.

The moment stretches and pulls and strains - and then it breaks. They leave the room just as you’re building up the bravery to open your mouth, and it’s over. The issue is resolved. You both wake up in the morning and it’s mostly forgotten already. Just another bruise to ignore.

You’ll die with the hundreds of things you never said, hardened in your heart. **  
**

 

* * *

London is more than anything Jacob imagined in his small country town life. Louder, busier, harsher. There’s always something happening, somewhere in the city. Walk a few blocks, and the culture changes like day and night. It’s brilliant.

It gets under his skin in a way that makes him feel energized. Every morning he gets up with purpose. For Evie’s part, her steps are lighter and her chin is higher, so Jacob knows she feels the same. It was the right decision to come here, and neither of them have regretted it.

In a matter of a couple weeks, they’ve cleared out the Kaylock and his influence from Whitechapel. Evie is relieved because a major threat against Mr. Green has been removed, and Jacob is pleased to have such a good start in the fight against the Blighters.

And then they collect their prize: the train that Kaylock bet in the fight against them.

After Agnes introduces herself and Mr. Green has a look around, the twins are left to themselves to settle in to the place.

“So we have a train…” Jacob muses out loud.

“Named Bertha,” Evie finishes. “A bit ungainly.”

“Ah, it’s a fine name for a train.” He looks around the compartment. “So this one is yours, then?”

“If it’s alright with you?” Evie asks hesitantly. “I know it’s a little more private than the other one, we could figure out a way to share…”

Jacob raises a hand to stop her. “No, please, it’s yours. I’ve already started getting settled in the next one.”

“Right across from the Templar board? Where Agnes’ desk is?”

“That’s the one,” Jacob says. “I’m already situated, don’t you worry.”

“Still,” says Evie, “we should at least look into getting you a bed or something. With only a couch - ”

“Evie,” he says patiently. “It’s fine. Now look, you have a desk started already?”

“Yes,” she says. “I wanted to get familiar with some of London’s old sewer systems and undergrounds before starting my search in earnest. And a deeper knowledge of London’s geography can only be helpful in the long run.”

Jacob plops down in the armchair across from her cheerfully. “God, you are a bore. I’d say to tell me if there was anything interesting, but - London’s old sewer systems!”

“Jacob…” Evie draws out his name. “Stand up.”

“What did I do?” asks Jacob. He looks down at himself. “What could I possibly have done wrong already?”

“Just stand up,” says Evie.

Jacob raises his hands in mock surrender and stands up. “Alright?”

“Turn in a circle.”

“Why…?”

“Just do it.”

Still with his hands raised, Jacob turns around completely to face her again. “And?”

Evie is squinting at him suspiciously, but she turns back to her desk with a sniff. “Alright. You can sit down again.”

Jacob rolls his eyes, and drops back into the chair. He fiddles with his gauntlet for a moment before he realizes. He’s back on his feet in a second. “Wait a minute!”

She doesn’t say anything.

“You were checking if my _clothes were dirty?_ ” He ignores her ignoring him and points a finger at her. “What if they were, were you going to forbid me from sitting in your precious armchair? Don’t pretend you can’t hear me, I can see you smiling!”

She isn’t bothering to hide her grin at this point, but she keeps her eyes on her work. “Jacob, dearest brother, I’m trying to familiarize myself with London’s infrastructure, if you wouldn’t mind keeping it down.”

“I understand what all of those words mean, _darling sister_.” He glares at her, ineffectually.

“Mmhm.”

Out of spite, he grabs one of her books and sits down in the armchair. He’s going to sit in this chair as a matter of principle, and by god, he will sit here for hours.

Twenty minutes later, he is bored spitless by London architecture, and decides principle isn’t as important as being not bored. He stands up.

“I’m going to look around some.”

Evie looks up from her work, indecently pleased smile plastered on her face. “Very well. I’ll see you later.” She daintily takes the book back and puts it back on her pile. “Thank you…!”

He mutters something indistinct - yet threatening - and leaves the train. Off to do something useful.

 

* * *

It’s some weeks later when Evie comes home bone tired in the late afternoon, and flops down on Jacob’s couch. She’s doing and undoing minor adjustments on her gauntlet, again and again, before she realizes she’s been staring into space for twenty minutes.

“Ugh.” She forcibly stops herself from fiddling and intertwines her fingers to prevent more of it. She’s just about to get her journal when Jacob walks in.

He stops in front of her, eyebrows raised. “Greetings, bed thief.”

She raises her eyebrows back. “This, Jacob? Isn’t a bed. It’s a sofa.”

“Alright, get up.” Jacob gestures ‘come on’ at her. “Up you get.”

“Mmm…” Evie leans her head against the back of the sofa. “I think I’ll stay.”

“Then shove over, I want to sit.”

She looked at the other side of the sofa. “You mean, where you put your feet? With your boots on? After you’ve been stomping around god-knows-where?”

“...Sod it.” Jacob flops down on the couch, head and shoulders in her lap. Evie grunts at the sudden weight. “I do take my boots off when I sleep - ” She pointedly glances at his booted feet on the other end. “ - but as you wish. You’re trapped here now. Hope you sleep well sitting up.”

“That’s an interesting theory,” Evie yawns. “But you are definitely going onto the floor when I decide to get up.”

“Oh, you think you can push me off?” Jacob reaches an arm around the back of the couch, ‘trapping’ her in place. “I am immovable.”

“I’m stronger than you,” Evie says.

“You tell yourself that.”

“Absolutely,” says Evie, lightly slapping him on the shoulder. “Put a few pennies on it?”

“You’re about to lose your money,” Jacob promises. “Speaking of, have you gone to any of Topping’s fight rings since we met him that first time?”

Evie smiles and nods. “Oh, yes. They’re very fun.”

“Crushing enemies, dislocating shoulders, breaking legs…”

“The London hand fighting community has no idea what’s in store,” says Evie.

“Is that where you were today?” Jacob asks, peering up at her.

“Oh,” says Evie, “no. I was after a child labour foundry today.” She hesitates. “No - no problems. You?”

Jacob grunted. “Good, good. Nothing special for me, just walking the borough. You know, I think we’ll be ready to challenge Strain for Lambeth soon.”

“We’ll see,” Evie counsels, but she privately agrees Lambeth’s Blighters are at their breaking point.

They sit in quiet for a while, gently rocking with the motion of the train. The setting sun filters through the shutters, glaring off everything shiny and metallic in the cabin. There’s a hypnotic quality to this moment; exhausted, at rest, washed in dying light.

“I just had a thought.” Jacob’s voice cuts into the atmosphere, his eyes closed. “I suppose George knows what we did.”

Evie is torn between laughter and irritation. “...Jacob, we’ve been here for close to two months. The Council knew what we did the moment we didn’t arrive back in Crawley that night.”

“Do you expect we’re in trouble?” Jacob asks, still looking as though he was sleeping.

“First of all, I know that you don’t care,” Evie answers, “and you know that I don’t. Second, if we are in trouble, it’s falling on Mr. Green’s shoulders, and he hasn’t said anything. Unless he’s been passing George’s angry letters on to you?”

“Indeed not.” Jacob shrugged, the motion restricted by being laid prone. “Well, they’re clearly not that upset about it if no one’s come to retrieve us.”

“In addition, Mr. Green clearly wants us here,” adds Evie. “Perhaps he’s already taken care of it with the Council.”

Jacob opens his eyes and immediately rolls them at her, but he’s smiling. “Yes, of course he wants us here - we’re delightful.”

“Maybe one of us is,” murmurs Evie.

“Yes, and it’s me,” says Jacob. “Look at me.”

Evie smacks him in the middle of his posturing.

“Fine. Both of us.”

“You lost your chance,” starts Evie, but the rest of her retort is interrupted by Jacob’s stomach rumbling. “Oh! I’m hungry, too. Let’s go grab something.”

“Bossy, bossy…” Jacob groans and sits up. “Let’s see if there’s a pub or something nearby.”

She stands up beside him and throws a challenging wink. "Let's go." With a running start, she exits his compartment and leaps off the train, zipline straining. She hears Jacob's zipline catching from behind her, and she ducks her head to hide a smile.


	2. Chapter 2

It’s the day of the fight against Cletus Strain, almost evening. Jacob leans into Evie’s living space. “Ready?”

She looks up from where she’s standing by her fireplace, fixing her gauntlets.

“Yes, of course.” She walks toward the door, pausing in front of Jacob. “Check for loose pins?” She tilts her head.

“Is there no way to get this hair under control without them?” Jacob asks, but he lightly pats her head to make sure no pins are pointed towards her scalp. “It's fine.”

She straightens and flashes a smile. “Shall we?”

He grins and follows her.

They don’t talk much on the carriage ride to the appointed alley. It’s already crowded, Blighters on one side, Rooks on the other. The air is buzzing with angry and anxious men and women, eager to get started.

Jacob and Evie stand on their side, looking for their opponent. Cletus Strain emerges from a carriage on the other side of the lane. There’s a second where they see him, and he sees them -

The fight starts.

They’d decided ahead of time that Jacob was to face Strain - well, Jacob had wanted it more, and so he said to Evie, who agreed.

The problem with this was that Strain was a little better than Jacob anticipated. Jacob is first unimpressed when the Templar gang leader throws down a smoke bomb - he is an Assassin, after all. He knows how to fight with compromised sight.

But so can Strain, apparently. Neither Jacob’s knuckles nor kukri are finding Strain, even though he knows he should be making contact. Minutes are passing in the thick, nausea inducing smoke. Strain is dodging everything, and is actually speeding up the longer they fight.

Jacob leans back to avoid a swipe of Strain’s knife and missteps on some rock on the ground.

Strain lunges, throwing a fist that catches Jacob on the temple. Strain follows through with an elbow to the chest, which Jacob blocks and catches. He pulls Strain in by the arm, holding him in place for a blow to the skull.

Strain wrenches his arm away, and whirls with a cutting motion towards Jacob’s torso. Jacob throws himself back to avoid it.

Before he can jump back to disarm him, Jacob sees a cane sword swing around Strain’s head and he’s down without a sound. Evie leans down and finishes him with a knife to the throat.

“I had that!” says Jacob indignantly.

Evie gives him a wry look, fighting a smile. “I’m sure you did. I just expedited the process.”

He sighs and turns away.

The smoke is clearing enough for Jacob to see the Rooks pushing back the Blighters, the fighters in red slowing to a halt when they see Cletus Strain’s body on the ground.

Word moves through the crowd fast, and the few remaining Blighters surrender without resistance. Jacob and Evie climb to the top of their carriage, an echo of their speech to the Whitechapel Blighters - now new members of the Rooks.

They stick around long enough to give orders to the Lambeth Rooks, in control of the borough, and then they leave.

The quiet between them has a different feeling on the carriage ride back to the train station. A few minutes in, Evie clears her throat.

“Are you feeling alright, Jacob?” she asks.

“Yes, I’m fine,” he answers shortly.

“...I was just asking.” She sounds stung.

He rolls his eyes, more than a little unkindly.

“Why are you angry?” she asks, taken aback. “We step in for each other like that all the time.”

Jacob tries to hold on to his anger, but he knows it’s petty and not worth it. He sighs and rolls his shoulder. “Yes, it’s just… I just had him, is all.”

“It was just a little close, is all,” she answers. “It was exactly where you would have stepped in for me, too.” She straightens and puts her hands on her knees. “I can’t promise I won’t do it again, Jacob, I would be very nervous if it got worse than that.”

“Yes, Mother.”

She sniffs and turns to look out the window. “Grow up.”

When they arrive at the train, it’s completely dark out. Evie is in her compartment, and Jacob in his before it hits him how strange this feels. Usually they share a few words before bed. He’s uneasy from the quiet, filled with the thoughts of what he and Evie might be discussing.

Jacob might be hovering over her desk, making commentary on whatever she was working on that day. (Or just making fun.) Or sometimes she might come into his room and peruse the bookshelf, take a look at the Templar board, make sure Jacob had a plan.

He’s tired and wants to go to bed, so he does. For the minutes before he drops off to sleep, he does his best to ignore the silence.

 

* * *

 

“Staying in again today, Miss Frye?”

Evie turns in her chair to see Henry. “Mr. Green!” She stands up to welcome him. “What brings you here?”

He smiles as she talks, and Evie pauses a second to catch her breath at the sight.

“I was following up on a lead for your brother,” he explains. “He seemed quite pleased with what I gave him, so I suppose I must be doing something right.”

“I suppose so,” laughs Evie. “Any good news for me?”

“Not much, I’m afraid,” says Henry. “Whispers here and there, nothing substantial enough to pass on. I assure you, the second I find something worthwhile, you will know about it.”

“Well, I appreciate your hard work.”

“Actually, I did have something related to our side project,” he says, and pulls out a yellow flower, already pressed.

She goes to take a look at it. “What is it?” Evie looks up at him.

“Let’s find out.” Henry gestures at the flower book on her desk.

Henry keeps her company while Evie carefully flips through the book. “It’s… goldenrod, isn’t it?” She squints at the page, then back at the flower.

“Indeed,” Henry says, and he tucks it between the pages.

_Encouragement._

 

* * *

 

The only thing Jacob can say is that at least it starts well.

They’ve been settling into London nicely. Jacob has multiple strongholds for the Rooks now, won together with Evie and eager young people ready to take down the Blighters. He wants some input on a spot near the Thames, so he goes to go annoy Evie.

In her room, she’s standing over her desk and frowning at her papers and books.

“What’ve you got there?” he asks, more to be polite than anything.

She startles from her concentrated stare. “Oh - nothing. Just - ” She waves over the abnormally busy pile on her desk. “ - research that isn’t coming together.” He can see signs of her frustration, but she also reaches up to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear absently. Suspicious.

“What’s it about?” Jacob asks.

“Nothing you’re interested in, I’m sure,” says Evie. “Leads on the Piece of Eden.”

“Oh, that old rot,” says Jacob, dismissing it cheerily.

Evie looks like she’s determined to be mistaken for a specially mean gargoyle, going by the glare on her face. “What do you want, Jacob?”

“Wanted your thoughts on where by the Thames to put a stronghold, but if you’re busy…” Jacob trails off.

“Well, I am, obviously,” says Evie. She pointedly turns back to her papers, but a second later, faces Jacob again. “If you were so interested in getting an opinion on a location, Mr. Green has generously included such information in the research he gave us. You could take a look at that.”

“Oh, so this is about Henry?” Jacob asks, falsely surprised. “Sorry, Mr. Green.” He affects a higher, feminine falsetto. “Mr. Green, come take a look at this and that! Mr. Green, your maturity is so attractive!”

Evie’s lip curls. “Shut it.”

He puts on a mockingly innocent expression. “Too close to home?”

“Yes, how unreasonable of me,” snaps Evie, “appreciating that a grown man is taking his responsibilities seriously.”

Jacob leers. “Is that all you’re appreciating?”

Evie slams her pen to her desk. She whirls around and raises a finger to Jacob’s face. He raises an eyebrow at it, then looks at her, unimpressed. After a moment where she doesn’t say anything, he smirks. “Is that the lecture, then?”

She drops her hand and turns around, completely leaving her back to him. “Good luck with your search, Jacob.”

He barks a short laugh. “Oh, come on! Is that it? Really?”

Her back is rigidly tense and she seems determined to ignore him.

“Oh, come on, Evie. You’re mad as that and for nothing!”

His goading works. She whirls and makes an aborted movement to push him. “Just because I prefer Mr. Green’s company to yours these days does not give you the right to make lewd comments!”

“As long as the preference is temporary,” Jacob responds flippantly, after a split second of hurt.

“Keep this up and it won’t be, I can assure you of that!” snaps Evie.

Jacob’s stomach drops. He opens his mouth. Closes it. He wants to retort, but he can’t think of anything to say.

He stops thinking about it. He leans in, closing the gap of inches, and desperately presses his mouth against hers. He closes his eyes and holds there, but her lips aren’t moving back against his. She’s stock still.

The room is distressingly silent, made more so by Evie’s refusal to move.

He’s starting to doubt himself -

Evie’s fist takes him in the side of the head, knocking him to the side almost into the wall of the compartment. He opens his eyes to see her looking at him with _such_ a look on her face - lips pressed together so fiercely they’re drawn white, eyes wide and filled with tears, nostrils flared. The very picture of shock and fury staring him down.

Jacob holds his face where she hit him, slowly standing up. Feeling small, avoiding Evie’s eyes searing him where he stands, he turns and slinks out of the cabin. He doesn’t bother going back to his couch. In between his and her compartments, he sends his zipline out to get away from the train.

The world is swimming before his eyes. He ignores the exclamations of people on the street as he brushes past them, looking for an empty alley. Blood is roaring in his ears and his body can’t decide if it’s too hot or too cold.

Alone in a backstreet, Jacob chokes down a quiet noise. He leans against a wall, covering his face with a hand.

He stands there for a long time.

 

* * *

 

Evie is frozen in place for long minutes after Jacob runs out. The quiet in her cabin is disagreeable, almost eerie. She can’t hear anyone else on the train, just the rumbling of the engine and the train moving over the tracks.

She can’t move.

The train takes a curve a bit too fast, and the shaking of her cabin jerks her from her reverie. Instinctively she touches her mouth. Fingers on lips, and she’s living it over and over again.

“What was that?” she utters to the room.

In light of… that - things start to make sense. Evie knew Jacob had been jealous, but she had thought… of her attention. Her time, her focus.

Her affection. Evie retreats from the thought.

She tries to sit down and get more work done. It’s a lost cause. Unbidden, small details from the memory surface. Jacob didn’t touch her except for the kiss. His hands had hovered in the air above her shoulders as though just about to reach for her. He had been radiating heat, such that she could feel it from where she stood. In the last month he must have grown some, because she could have sworn he had leaned down a little while kissing her.

Evie contemplates going to bed, since she is clearly not going to get any more work done. In the middle of reaching to douse the lamp, she pauses. She is thinking about laying down in the dark, with nothing to distract her from what had happened, and these small observations sprouting like weeds.

Back to her research, then. Her hands grip the edge of her desk so hard that her knuckles turn white. She starts to read a paragraph of Bazalgette’s sewer schematics. Four large pumps were required to transport water from the Thames to the estuary. Jacob’s bottom lip had dragged over her mouth so slowly.

She blinks hard, then tries again.

 

* * *

 

Henry comes over a couple of days later, having new leads for both of them. In the meeting, they catch each other’s eye accidentally over a map of the Strand. They look at each other for the first time in three days and the world doesn’t end.

They don’t talk about it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Because honestly, screw Cletus Strain. That fight sucked - and for some reason, devastatingly easy with Evie, frustratingly impossible with Jacob.
> 
> Interesting thing discovered: steel pens were being manufactured by the 1830s, though they weren't as effective as the fountain pens later invented around the turn of the century. Your Victorian factoid for the day.


	3. Chapter 3

It’s a few weeks later, and things are sort of back to normal. They act as if the events in Evie’s room never transpired. Though it’s an awkward peace, it’s working, more-or-less. Pushing past that only means there’s now freedom to pursue other issues between them that are now becoming problems.

Evie comes straight home after meeting Clara at Lambeth and retrieving the life-saving medicine. Her heart is still pounding from that close call (and meeting Florence Nightingale!) and so she decides to go straight to her journal.

She sits down in her armchair, and spends the next hour recounting the events of what happened on paper. She takes her time, picking out exactly the right words for the events of the night, and her opinions on the entire affair. More vexed than she wants to admit to herself, Evie needs the full hour to translate her irritation into something she wouldn’t be embarrassed to let a stranger read.

She is just putting a period at the end of the paragraph citing frustrations with Jacob’s lack of foresight when she hears his feet thump onto the platform between their cabins. Jacob enters the compartment and comes around the corner from her closet.

“Evening, Evie.” He stops and looks thoughtful. “There’s a pun in there somewhere.”

She rolls her eyes. “Not a clever one.”

Jacob glances down at the journal on her lap. “Still working at this hour?”

She closes it. “Just finished, actually. Where have you come from?”

“Oh, you know.” He puts his hands in his pockets. “Here and there. Drinks with the boys.”

“Ah.” She stands up and put her journal away at her desk. “The Whitechapel boys or the Lambeth boys?”

“Does it matter?” Jacob shrugs.

“I suppose not,” she says. “After all, the plan is for there to be Rooks covering all jurisdictions of the city.”

Jacob points at her, pleased look on his face. “Exactly! Soon the distinction won’t matter.”

Evie doesn’t respond. She starts straightening the books and papers on the desk, her version of fidgeting. “So I visited Lambeth tonight.”

The smile slides off Jacob’s face, no doubt a lifetime of being her brother attuning him to a lead-in. She knows he knows she’s about to turn the conversation in a direction he doesn’t like, but bully his discomfort. “Yes?” he asks, and yet it’s not a question. Flatly stated, in his voice it sounds a challenge.

“The Lambeth asylum, specifically,” she continues, “and Clara O’Dea was there. Since Dr. Elliotson’s demise, she and several other children have gotten quite sick with no medicine available - ”

Jacob cuts her off in the middle of explaining the fate that had almost befallen Clara. “Why are you blaming me for this? I know you think Elliotson was a justified target!”

“I’m not saying that!” retorts Evie. “You didn’t even let me finish. Killing Dr. Elliotson was necessary, yes, I agree. But what happened _after_ \- ”

“Well, it turned out alright, didn’t it?” says Jacob, waving at her dismissively.

Evie gapes. “Because - because I went and checked on things after you upended the place! It didn’t just _happen_ to end up alright! I fixed it!”

“See? There you are. Why are you angry? It’s a good thing that you’re taking care of them. Clara’s fine, isn’t she?” He’s being glib, not taking this seriously, as she feared.

“Why does it have to be me?” She’s clenching and unclenching her teeth, trying to calm herself. Above all, right now she’s angry that Jacob isn’t as angry as she is. “Always me? Why do I have to be the mature one?”

“Oh ho!” Jacob laughs, but there’s a nasty edge to it. “So you think you’re the mature one?”

“ _Yes!_ ” Evie throws her hands into the air. “I _do_ think that, because _I am!_ You never think about the consequences of your actions, even when those consequences mean that innocent people might get hurt or killed!”

“I don’t know, perhaps I thought my sister might have my back!” Jacob finally raises his voice.

“How am I supposed to have your back when I don’t know anything you get up to these days?” Evie is shouting and inordinately pleased that Jacob is finally reacting. “You keep ungodly hours, you don’t tell me where you’re going, and you refuse to answer the simplest questions about what you’re doing! And you expect me to have your back?!”

“I suppose I thought that’s what family is supposed to do for each other!” Jacob spits. “How foolish of me!”

“You can expect my support when you support me in return,” says Evie, injecting as much scorn into her bearing as she can, “except - oh, wait. I forgot that looking for Shroud of Eden is very _beneath_ you. Am I expected to give you my time and respect but never receive any?”

“Wait, hold on, was there ever a time you respected what I’m trying to do here?” Jacob puts on a mock expression of deep thought. “The Rooks dismantling the Templar hold on London’s underground? Taking down Starrick’s lieutenants? No, I think you categorized all that as deeply unimportant compared to the mystical piece of cloth which nobody knows what it does!”

Evie is shaking her head, tamped down anger quivering through her from head to toe. “You are rich.”

“At least I’ve tagged along on some of your errands, sister mine,” he continues. “I’m trying to recall you ever offering your assistance with anyone on the Templar board - ”

“And fat lot of help you were,” she snarls, “where your clumsiness cost me valuable information - ”

“And _yet!_ ” Jacob shouts. “You go around, pledging our help and support to literally anyone who asks, and still you turn around and say there’s no time to go after the real targets!”

“There is a difference between throwing ourselves at the Templars and helping people in need,” Evie says, “and I know I’d rather put my energy where I know it will be put to most use!”

“Well, whenever you need help with that, you can call on - ” Jacob glances up and away. “Well! Mr. Green, I suppose!”

“And I’ll keep an eye out for wherever London disintegrates at your touch,” snaps Evie. “God knows I’ll have to clean up after you again.”

“Fine!” he retorts.

“Fine!” she repeats.

They glare at each other, unable to think of anything more to say. After a minute with nothing, Jacob spins on his heel and leaves, not quite slamming the compartment door behind him.

She’s still furiously having arguments with him in her head when she tries to sleep, hours later. Even in her imagination, Jacob still won’t _understand_.

 

* * *

 

There’s something sour that curdles in his gut every time he sees Evie these days. He’s making himself scarce, spending as little time as possible on the train.

He accidentally catches her eye, sometimes. She opens her mouth to ask something, he feels cold and sick for a moment, and she never says anything. Worry lives in her eyes, but he manages to escape unaccosted.

She wouldn’t understand.

 

* * *

 

Jacob would say they were dancing around each other if that didn’t make it sound like something nice and agreeable. They’re avoiding each other, and it’s a dance much the same way as a fistfight is holding hands.

The air prickles with tension whenever they have to be in the same room. Evie’s very presence makes something in his shoulders tense. He knows by the set of her mouth when she sees him that it’s the same with her.

Henry still visits often, and it’s by his moderating influence that they can bear to have the necessary conversations on their activities.

She’s fought with Lucy Thorne, having found a necklace but immediately lost it. Pearl Attaway is dead. The combustion engines are in Ned’s hands, ready to be put to use for their profit. The Rooks’ are strengthened in the city, and they’re both looking keenly at Victor Lynch’s activities in the Strand.

Evie asks for more detail on Attaway. Something cold shrivels in his stomach, and he brazenly ignores her questions as he explains he’s going to work on something with Freddy Abberline.

Silence.

They each depart, leaving Henry standing in the middle.

 

* * *

 

There’s a wave of anxiety that strikes her every time she sees Jacob these days. It’s as if he’s in a daze - always busy, always on the way out somewhere. Distracted.

Sometimes she thinks about talking to him. He’s dodged her questions every time she tries to ask, but if she could just sit him down, maybe…

She doesn’t try.

 

* * *

 

“Miss Frye!”

Evie stops in the street, turning to see who’s called her in such distress. A young Rook dressed in green, not even old enough to shave, runs up to her and immediately leans down on his knees, panting.

“What is it?” she asks.

“There was an ambush,” he gasps in between breaths. “Some Blighters from Westminster crossed borders and came across some of our boys, but we don’t have a large presence close to - ”

Evie waves him along to get to the point.

The boy takes the hint. “Mister Frye was there and he’s hurt and he needs your help - ”

Evie grabs him, and throws him onto the bench of a nearby growler that definitely does not belong to the Rooks. “Show me the way.”

The next few minutes are a blur. The kid points left and right as needed, until Evie runs the horses ragged in a back alley somewhere in the Strand. Every second that passes seems to stretch into their own individual eternities. It’s as if the world has slowed to a crawl, as if she’s trapped in a bog.

The boy points. “Behind there!” Evie pulls the carriage to a stop, and jumps off before the horses are even settled. The horses are almost ruined; she’ll need another ride on the way out.

It’s a scene of carnage, bloodied corpses on the ground only recognizable by whether they’re wearing green or red. But some of them are moving, and to Evie’s relief, they’re Rooks. Jacob is sitting on a box, leaning heavily on one of their lieutenants; white complexion, drawn in the face.

“Evie.” Jacob is clearly trying for boisterous, but he has barely the breath. Her name comes out more as a sigh than a greeting.

As she runs over to them, the surviving Rooks’ express relief. “Miss Frye! We sent Charlie to find you.” The boy who found her, now standing at the alley entrance as a lookout.

Jacob attempts to stand, but the lieutenant protests. “No, boss!”

“Oh, quiet, Batty,” Jacob grunts, but he stills and closes his eyes without more protest.

“Let me look at you,” she orders, and she kneels down to check his injuries, starting with his head.

“Miss Frye, we have a carriage on the way for him and you, wherever you need to take him,” Batty says.

“Thank you,” she answers distractedly, moving on to Jacob’s torso now that she’s satisfied there’s no head injury. “Let me know as soon as it arrives. And thank Charlie for me, would you.”

There are scratches and cuts elsewhere on his chest and sides, but when she shifts his coat aside, she sees a shard of metal sticking out of his side. She exhales shakily. “Oh, hell.”

“That’s a good sign,” Jacob says, sarcastic even though he sounds strained to the point of apoplexy.

She shushes him and studies it for a moment. If it’s been there for a while already, and Jacob not having bled out, chances are good it isn’t lodged deep enough to hit any organs or arteries. It will be painful for him, but Evie is willing to put stakes on her ability to fix it. Not that she would have been able to convince Jacob to go down to Lambeth asylum, anyway.

She continues her inventory of his physical state. Nothing else on his torso. She lightly pats down his legs - a few scratches and bruises. She checks his arms, and is about to call it finished when she finally looks at his hands.

Again she is taken aback. “You’re a goddamned fool of an idiot,” she curses at him.

Jacob raises his eyebrows as his rejoinder. “Language…” he teases.

Evie glares up at him, noting his increased lack of breath. “Batty, please keep him from talking, please.”

His hands are covered in shards of glass. She knows the fight was a bad one, that Jacob may have been the only reason these Rooks survived, but still. It looks as though he smashed a window and ground his fists into it. She wouldn’t put it past him, either.

“Miss Frye?” Charlie hesitantly taps her shoulder. “The carriages are here. One’s for you and Mister Frye…”

“Thank you, Charlie.” She stands and slips an arm around Jacob’s waist opposite Batty, putting Jacob’s arm over her shoulders. With Batty’s help, they walk Jacob to the carriage waiting on the road. Evie settles Jacob in the cab, making sure he’s lying down and secured.

“Thank you, Batty,” Evie says, shaking her hand. “Will you and the others be able to find your way to a safe place?”

“Aye, it’s all in hand, Miss Frye,” says Batty.

“Good.” Evie jumps on and takes the reins. “Good night, miss.”

“Miss Frye!” Batty leans closer. “When Mister Frye is well again, please pass on our thanks. We would have all died if not for him.”

Evie nods and then slaps the reins, heading back to the train.

After the most careful drive of her life, Evie is walking Jacob through the train. His couch is no place for surgery or recovery, so she’ll sacrifice her bed for a while. Jacob doesn’t say anything for the whole walk. He stumbles so frequently, Evie bearing so much of his weight, it takes minutes to go where it should’ve been seconds. On the way through, one of their Rook leaders, Able, looks stricken, but lets her know that Henry is on his way.

In her room, she sits Jacob down on the edge of her bed, and goes to retrieve their surgery kit. Jacob sinks down, wavering where he sits. She turns on all the lamps, trying to get as much light as possible. She pulls her desk chair over in front of Jacob and sets to work immediately.

“I know you want to pass out, Jacob,” she says, pulling out cloth scissors. “Just hold on a little bit.”

“Mmhm,” Jacob agrees without fuss, eyes closed.

She pulls off his coat, and starts cutting his shirt off. Jacob flinches and protests.

“Unless you want to take it off yourself…” she says. Jacob doesn’t respond, and she rolls her eyes. She spends minutes peeling off the shirt where the blood has congealed, sticking to him. Jacob makes a noise that, if he were strong enough to speak, she thinks would be swearing.

A cursory glance shows the other cuts on his torso are as non-threatening as she first thought. She leaves those for later, and leans over to take a look at his left side.

She starts talking to herself, leading herself through the process. “It doesn’t look deep, and either way, needs to come out. With any luck, there’ll be no infection, either.” Jacob’s arm is in the way of where she’ll be moving, so she takes it and raises it up.

Jacob tries to pull back, muting a growl. She strengthens her grip on his arm and holds it level to his shoulder.

“Can’t do it,” he chokes between gritted teeth.

“I’ll be very fast,” Evie says apologetically. “Please try.”

He heaves a breath, and shakes as he tries to hold his arm in place. Evie wonders if he might have bruised ribs before she shakes the thought and focuses on the immediate problem.

“Count of three.” She grabs the metal, ready to pull it out. “One.” She pulls.

Jacob’s voice is strained and ragged when he swears at her. “You fucking _always_ do that.”

Evie presses one of her clean towels to his side and presses. “Yes, and you fall for it every time.”

Jacob starts to lower his arm, curling around the wound. Evie allows it for a moment, giving it time to clot.

After a few minutes, she gently prods Jacob’s shoulder. “Hold this?” He reaches around himself to hold the towel in place. She turns to the kit beside him on the bed and gets the surgical needle ready, and threads it.

She sets it aside for a second. “Jacob, I’m going to look at it and make sure there’s not a piece of it still in there. Ready?”

“Ugh.” Jacob raises his arm and tries to straighten.

“Turn a little bit? Into the light.”

He huffs at her, but turns as much as he can manage.

“Alright.” Evie quickly removes the towel, looking as thoroughly as she can before the blood wells up again. “...It’s clean. Now the hard part.”

She replaces the towel, presses it, and tries to figure out how to explain to Jacob what she needs him to do.

There’s a knock at the door, and before Evie can wonder who it is, Henry walks in the door. He puts his bag down when he sees them, relief written over his features. “Thank goodness you’re alive.”

“I’m still here, Greenie,” Jacob tries to tease, but the quality of his health is so weak, Henry seems rather more perturbed than if he not said anything.

“Mr. Green,” says Evie, “your arrival could not have been more timely. Please come here.”

Henry comes to the other side of her chair, the side of Jacob’s injury. Evie explains she needs him to hold the towel and wipe away blood while she stitches the injury.

“Luckily it’s a small wound, so it should be closed in four stitches,” she says. “Maybe five.”

“Oh, only that,” Jacob says.

“Please ignore Jacob’s whinging,” Evie says to Henry. “It’s not as bad as it looks. It missed everything serious. Ready?”

Henry nods, and he takes the towel in hand. Jacob raises his arm, and Evie nods at Henry.

He removes it, and then Evie is working as fast and as carefully as she can simultaneously. With one hand, she holds the edges of the wound together, and with the other, takes the hooked needle and pushes it through his skin. Jacob’s breath hitches with every pass of the needle.

Henry is attentive and responsive with wiping away Jacob’s blood. Evie was worried the wound might become too slippery for her to hold onto, but this Henry has in hand. Much better than if she had had Jacob do it.

She finishes stitching and knots it closed. She takes a fresh towel and has Henry press it against the wound. “Just for a short while longer.” Evie points at the bag Henry brought with him. “Are there painkillers in there?”

Henry nods. “Laudanum.”

“Alright.”

Jacob clears his throat now. “Can I sleep now?”

Evie glances at his hands, still embedded with glass shards and grit. “I’ll work on your hands right away, but if you can sleep through that, then by all means. Wait, one minute.” She quickly does another check of his head, making doubly sure there is no cut or injury on his head or neck.

“No pain there?” she asks him, and he shakes his head to the negative.

“Good. Then I’ll give you a dose and you can sleep. Just know I’ll be doing some more minor surgery.” She takes a measure of the powder from Henry’s bag and prepares a draught.

She watches Jacob drink it, and then helps him lie down on the bed, making sure to keep his hands spread out. Henry removes the towel and starts on the clean-up, taking the bloodied towels away.

Jacob falls unconscious in the quiet buzz of their activity. Evie bandages over the stitches, noting the blood flow is slowing down. She pulls off Jacob’s boots, and wrinkles her nose as she realizes Jacob’s blood is on the sheets and blankets. “I meant to replace those, anyway,” she mutters to herself.

“I’m relieved to see it was not more serious,” Henry says, having disposed of the soiled cloth. “By the time the information passed to me, the tale had grown in severity. I was not sure what I would see when I arrived.”

“The evils of gossip,” Evie comments, smiling at him. “I’m… very happy you came.”

“Of course,” he says. “Now, it seems the worst has passed. Would you like company?” He gestures at Jacob, where Evie has already started getting ready for cleaning the detritus out of his hands.

Evie is about to accept, but she starts to think of what the next few days will bring.

“Not right now,” she says slowly. “But in the next few days, I think I may need your help. The reason being the risk of Jacob’s wound becoming infected and him developing a fever. I expect I will be awake for long stretches at a time, trying to keep a watch on him. If you could…” She hesitates. “It’s a big favour, I realize this. But I will be up all night, and maybe by the morning, you could… If you’re available, I understand you’re a busy man - ”

“I understand,” Henry says laughingly, holding up a hand to stop her. “I will be here to take over for you at, say, eight o’clock in the morning?”

“That sounds perfect, thank you,” says Evie, relieved.

Henry points at the bag still on the floor by her end table. “Feel free to take what you need. I brought it for the two of you, after all.”

“Of course,” she murmurs.

Henry takes his leave and then Evie is left alone with Jacob’s prone body. She sets up a side table with a bowl and takes Jacob’s right hand in hers. The sun has set only minutes previous, so she needs the lamplight more than ever.

It’s already almost nine o’clock at night. She holds in a sigh at the thought of being awake for eleven more hours - and that sort of thinking is not helpful. She picks up tweezers and gets to work.

The night crawls at a reluctant pace, dragging from one minute to the next. But there’s always something for Evie to do. She is meticulous with cleaning fragments from his hands - a task that takes her the better part of two hours in no small part because of the extremely small size of the glass. Only when she is totally satisfied does she wash and wrap his hands.

Then it’s the numerous cuts, bruises, and abrasions littered everywhere on his chest and arms. She cleans and bandages those. She knows his back must be as equally damaged, but she doesn’t want to move him while the hole in his side is so fresh.

It’s approaching one in the morning when Evie decides she’s ready to stop. Whatever injuries on his back and legs are minor and can wait until later. Now only seven more hours until Henry comes back and she can sleep.

Evie cleans up her makeshift workstation, putting away the medical supplies, making sure the laudanum is in easy reach for the next time Jacob needs it. Now is the dull but necessary work of watching for infection or fever.

She pulls out her sketchbook to entertain herself and sits across from him in her armchair. A glance to make sure Jacob is still passed out, his face relaxed in drugged sleep, and she waits.

Doodling eventually relaxes her, and she tries to nap. But it seems every time her head drops, anxiety screams through her, and she jumps back to awareness. She checks for fever at the top of every hour, holding the back of her hand to his forehead. Dozing in between is all she can manage, but she always jolts awake after mere moments. The longest stretch of sleep she manages is twenty minutes. It’s hell.

 

* * *

 

Over the next few days, Henry and Evie take it in turns to watch Jacob. Of course he doesn’t make it easy for them. He wakes up from his sleep after the painkiller wears off, in pain and greatly annoyed by it. Henry was the only one present as Evie was taking her turn to sleep, having traded her bed for Jacob’s couch. Jacob is only awake long enough for a short while, long enough for his physical needs, and then he’s back asleep after another dose.

When Evie wakes up that evening around dinner time, Henry passes her a tray of food and relays the incident. Evie apologizes for Jacob profusely, thanks Henry, and lets him get back to his business.

She’s just finished eating and is getting a pot of tea ready when Jacob stirs.

“...Greenie?” he calls from the bed, hoarse with sleep.

“It’s me again,” she says. “Thank goodness. I hear you were a little rude this morning.”

“Oh, it’s fine,” Jacob grumbles.

“Hold on, I’m going to get something to eat,” she says. When she has something ready, she walks it over to him, with tea, and another draught of laudanum for after. She sits on the bed next to him. Judging by the look on his face, food is the last thing he wants; under her eye, he unenthusiastically takes a piece of apple to nibble on.

She waits until he refuses to eat anymore, and then sets the tray aside. “Before I set you off to sleep again, I want to check on your side. Roll toward me.”

He sighs in irritation, but moves onto one side so she can examine the injury.

She peels off the bandage. “Did Mr. Green change this?”

“Not sure.”

It looks like he did, and Evie is grateful to him all over again. There’s lots of sunlight this time around, so little doubt about the state of the wound. It’s red and swollen, but in the normal way of a healing injury. No infection. “Thank goodness,” she murmurs under her breath. She raises her voice. “Onto your stomach - I didn’t get a chance to look at your back before.”

He mutters something uncomplimentary, but complies. His back is a canvas of mottled dark purples and greens, some of them almost black. But there are no cuts, nothing to be infected. Evie’s tempted to poke some of the bruising but stops herself. She resists commenting and gestures that he can roll over again.

“Now that you’re lucid and not dosed, can you tell me if there are cuts or anything on your legs?”

“S’fine,” Jacob says, waving a hand. “Greenie took a look while he was here. He also checked for broken ribs and supervised a visit to the latrine.” He waggles his eyebrows. “He even checked me for fever.”

Evie rolls her eyes. “And see how appreciative you are for his assistance. Aren’t you glad to have him here?”

“I appreciate him plenty,” Jacob sniffs. “The most matronly commander I’ve ever served under.”

“And _now_ it’s time for more laudanum,” Evie says, reaching for the painkiller, “as I’m sure I will only contribute to your injuries if I’m forced to listen to you talk any longer.” She passes the cup to him and makes sure he finishes drinking it before she sets about folding him under the blankets.

She’s about to leave when he sneaks a bandaged hand from under the covers and grabs her sleeve. “Stay?” he asks. “For just a little while. I’m not as tired as before.”

Evie hedges for only a moment before she sits down on the covers next to him. “Alright. But I assure you, you’ll feel ready to sleep again very soon.”

“I know.”

“Did I check for fever?” Without waiting for his answer, she knows she forgot, and she places her hand on his forehead. She can’t tell, and realizes it might be because she was handling the hot teapot earlier. She leans down and presses her lips to his forehead in a chaste kiss to check the temperature. Normal.

“No fever,” she says, smiling reassuringly.

“I don’t suppose…” Jacob’s voice cracks, but he clears his throat and tries again. “I don’t suppose this is what having Mother would have been like?”

Evie’s smile fades a little as she tries to parse that. “What do you mean?”

“You know. Mothers are supposed to do this sort of thing, aren’t they?” Jacob asks. He yawns and continues. “Take care of you when you’re sick. Feed you. Kiss your forehead to check for fever. All that. It’s nice to know what it’s like.”

She swallows and squeezes his hand. “I suppose it must be like that.”

Jacob’s eyes open and tries to prop himself up on his elbows. “Wait.”

Evie clucks her tongue and pushes his shoulder until he lies down. “What?”

“You don’t know,” said Jacob.

“I don’t know what?”

“What it’s like to have Mother,” said Jacob earnestly. His eyes are brighter than normal.

Evie tries not to roll her eyes - the laudanum must be taking effect already. “Oh?”

He puts his hands on the sides of her face and gently pulls her down to kiss her forehead in kind. “There,” he says solemnly, “now you know, too.”

Evie breaks into giggles, her head falling next to his on the pillow. His quiet chuckling is shaking the bed and her, his arms wrapped around her in a loose hug. Nothing feels as good as their laughter sounds.

For a moment, she thinks they could be back in Crawley. It feels easy being around him. For a moment. She pushes herself up until she’s sitting straight again. Jacob slips his hand into hers and threads their fingers together. She holds his hand gently over the bandages and strokes his hair until his eyes close.

His breathing slows. Her hands run over his head until she’s sure he’s asleep.

 

* * *

 

A couple of days later, Jacob is walking around again, albeit not exactly ready to be out on the streets. She’s quite sure he will ignore her advice and put himself in harm’s way before he’s fully healed. But there is a flush of health in his cheeks and he looks strong, so she doesn’t force the issue.

She finds him back on his couch looking over a couple of maps. “I’m going out,” she says. “A lead on where Lucy Thorne will be - I’m closing in.”

“Alright.” He waves her off, absorbed in his own tactical research.

She hesitates by the door, then leaves. It’s fine. She’s happy he’s doing something productive with his time.

 

* * *

 

What had looked to be a truce turns out to have been more of a temporary cessation of hostilities.

Jacob is hardly settled from his success at the bank before Evie is on his case about it. She’s been irritated in perpetuum since she went after Lucy Thorne, though for what reason, Jacob doesn’t know and Evie isn’t saying. Thorne is dead and that should have been the end of it.

But she comes into his compartment, steaming angry about “single-handedly destroying the British economy” and “how close we all came to starving in the streets.”

“Again,” he repeats patiently, “you were there to take care of it. It ended well.”

“Why do you never think about anyone else besides yourself?” Evie snaps. “About anything other than your own satisfaction? Your actions have consequences and you should be the one thinking about it - not me!”

“Well, this sounds familiar,” he retorts. “Oh, wait, I remember hearing this exact lecture from Father! How about instead of wasting your time on fantastical magic objects, you help me get the Templars out of systems running this city!”

“Finding the Shroud is important, Jacob, and if the Templars get their hands on it - ”

“They’ll what?” Jacob asks. “Live forever?”

“Very possibly!” Evie says. “We don’t know yet - I seem to remember having a box full of Templar intelligence that I had to abandon because - oh, yes, my brother is a reckless lunatic!”

Jacob can’t even remember how the fight ends, just that he ends up staring at the Templar board; not seeing anything and heart pounding furiously.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry, this was a little later than I said it might be. Parts of it spiraled away from me, there.
> 
> Things I found interesting:
> 
>   * It's really weird to me in the 21st century that, back then, there was no sort of moral outrage or panic about using opiates and other addictive drugs so commonly. It just wasn't a thing yet! Weird!
>   * 1868 happens to be the year there was a law passed limiting the sales of some of those drugs to only official sources, ie. pharmacies. Kinda cool!
>   * I can't even believe all the things I've looked up about Victorian London just for incidental references. I'm in Victorian England research hell. Free me. Modern werewolf in America AU or bust.
> 


**Author's Note:**

> You can find me on [tumblr](http://difficultbluebird.tumblr.com/).


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